


Seventeen Shorts

by SunAndMoon (LadyMorgaine)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Short & Sweet, Soonhoon - Freeform, verkwan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMorgaine/pseuds/SunAndMoon
Summary: Small one-shots (one-shorts?) I don't want to lose.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 76
Kudos: 109





	1. Mono no Aware

Time passes.

It’s a concept Hoshi is familiar with. He could see time trickling away around him like the plangent notes scattering softly in the air.

It sounded like a spring tune but there was the awareness of winter beneath it, lurking. Always there. The vivid green of spring always disappears into the harsh frost-bitten whiteness of winter; even if it’s the season he loves the most, it didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate the impermanence of it.

He flicked off the sound on his phone and lifted it to take a picture of the back of Woozi’s head. They often did it, he and Seungcheol. It was for the same reason, ostensibly, but for their leader it was just that, a little torture fitting in with a whole lot of fondness and gratitude. For him it was less about that and more about a timeline. He had been watching genius over Woozi’s shoulder for almost a decade now; it was doubly impressive because he wasn’t that good with words himself, and seeing others wield them with the subtlety of a scalpel always amazed him.

Besides.

Besides…

Besides, Woozi looked good in blue and magenta, and his couch was a safe space he could curl up on and indulge the shyness that lurked deep inside. One day he wouldn’t have this because too much time had passed, even though they joked about being idols at fifty still.

Hell, if his knees lasted until fifty he’d still do it.

“You’re being stupid again,” Woozi said over the drifting chords.

Hoshi tried to hide his smile, lowering his phone innocently. “Still being mean because we wore the same shirt?” he teased.

Woozi’s fingers never stopped playing, but he gave an impressive snort. “No,” he muttered. “Because you idiots have still not figured out that I can see you taking photos of the back of my head in the reflection on my monitor.” Time passed in a little trickle of seconds. “And because you wore the same shirt as I did. You know I hate the couple thing.” He paused. “In fact, that’s my shirt. I had to wear your shirt.”

Hoshi looked down at his phone, trying not to sulk. “You only have use for me when I bring you rice,” he muttered, trying not to feel bad. Woozi always inspired complex feelings, this mood was mixed with a subtle kind of joy as he saved the latest picture in his secret stash of folders dedicated to back-of-the-head brilliance shots. “Couple clothes are cute.”

Silence stretched out, right until Woozi turned his chair and poked him in the forehead with a small, socked toe. “Stop sulking,” he advised drily. “We _are_ a couple. We don’t need to advertise that no matter how much the fans squeal. Besides, you weren’t thinking of that. You had your sad look on again.”

Privately Hoshi marveled, but smacked the foot away with a wrinkle of his nose. “I did not.”

When silence stretched out, he chanced a look up and ran straight into the trap. His boyfriend was _looking_ at him, that look he sometimes got when staring at fascinating topics. He didn’t have a defense against it; five seconds later he sighed and slumped. “Fine,” he muttered. “I was thinking about time passing like that Japanese phrase maknae-ya taught me the other day. Mono no aware? Watching you is like watching spring turn into winter, and it’s fascinating but also scary and sad.” Blinking, he looked down at his phone again. “That’s why I take photos.”

Silence stretched again, and this time he let it.

“You know,” Woozi said finally. “This is why I’m your boyfriend and not Seungcheol’s. Apart from the fact that you bring me more rice. Because even if the flowers fall and the world turns grey, I still have my star to guide me, from our first moment to our last.”

A supernova went off inside Hoshi’s chest from fondness and love and a million other shades of yearning. “Aaaish,” he muttered. “What a line. Put it in a song.”

Woozi’s smile spread slowly wider as he put Godori to one side and stood, moving to kneel over Soonyoung’s lap. “I have,” he said smugly. “And the fans are gonna love it more than our couple outfits.”

Hoshi swallowed, letting his phone droop off to the side. “More than you love rice?” he muttered.

“Doubtful,” Woozi said bluntly, and leaned in to kiss him.

Hoshi pinched his eyes tight and fell into the beauty of the moment, feeling the words against his lips.

_Not as much as I love you._


	2. Ceraunophilia

If he listened carefully, he could hear thunder and lightning stalk over the hills close to the resort the group stayed in. Any moment now he would be able to see lightning walking closer on pronged legs, and the rumble out there would match the rumble in the chest he pressed his lips to. It was one of the things he loved about making love to a dragon, even a young one.

As the flickers of light in the room they shared grew stronger and stronger, his eyes picked out tiny, tiny scales beneath Jihoon’s sensitive skin. He had to look carefully, but he could see the flash as lightning-light glanced over delicate collarbones and high cheekbones. So very few, so very tiny, but he leant down to press his lips to them anyway, absorbing the feel of Jihoon’s heart going thud-thud-thud with tiny, delicate kisses.

“Watch it,” Jihoon cautioned him with a growl and laced talented fingers through the hair at his nape as he bit along the curve of one collarbone. “If it shows during the shoot tomorrow, you’re going to be sorry.”

He muffled his laugh into the small hollow between Jihoon’s collarbones, lingering there a moment with his tongue. “Why should I be careful?” he teased back. “When not being careful means we get to do this in a lightning storm.” He sat up, ignoring the wild look in Jihoon’s eyes for a moment before nudging the blinds open a fraction more. Outside, the clouds churned against the brilliance of the full moon, veiling it in stripes and angry, fat clouds.

It felt laughable and weird and fond to be dived down by a dragon that sounded more like the world’s tiniest lion when growling, but there was definitely some muscle behind that – Jihoon was fond of lifting and exercise these days; he only looked delicate with the thin, oversized clothes chosen for their latest album. Even then his shoulders were much wider, and his arms solid with muscle, and…

And…

Reason went away as they made love in the embrace of the thunderstorm. Rolling, insistent rumbles covered their gasps and moans. Lightning spattered off the thin trail of scales down Jihoon’s neat back, until it was joined by the banked sun-fire glow as his dragon pulled pleasure out of him insistently, needily. Later, rain sifted around the resort’s hanok as they collapsed on the bed, sweaty and spent and content with the world. It was…

It was the happiest he’s ever been. His heart was so full he couldn’t think beyond the storm in his arms, and he tightened arms around Jihoon’s lithe waist to pull him in further, try for a second round.

The door slammed open, bringing the chill of the rain and the put-upon scream of a bird-maiden driven past his patience.

“Shut up!” Seungkwan yelled at them, though his eyes were tightly shut. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, we’re all trying to sleep! I get that you get a hard-on over rainy season, _hyung_ , but for all the gods’ sake, shut the fuck up! Can you two stop sinning?!” His hair, usually so glossy and perfect, stood like an irritated haystack, snapping and hissing and snarling as the free static in the air made it into a rat’s nest.

Jihoon reached out with one foot and toed the door shut, ignoring the way his head bobbled on Soonyoung’s shoulder from hysterical laughter. “Rude,” he mumbled as he reached down to haul a blanket over them. “He's so rude. It’s not as if there was any hail this time.”

Soonyoung took a deep breath of the sharp, ozone-rich scent mingling with the heat and musk between them, and started to plan his next assault on the local weather patterns at dawn. Hail sounded like a worthy goal all of a sudden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * This is an outtake from the Bukhansan Tales universe, in which Woozi is a young dragon. Dragons being what they are in that universe, affects weather with their emotions until they learn to fully control that power. 
>   * Ceraunophilia is defined as loving thunder and lightning, and finding them intensely beautiful. 
>   * Being ceraunophiliac and the partner of a dragon that can be teased into lightning storms is a double win for Soonyoung here. 
>   * Seungkwan's eyes are shut because he doesn't want to be tainted, of course. 
>   * The space formed between the collarbones is called a suprasternal notch, but you try working that into a soft scene. :P 
> 



	3. Opia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

The _hyungdeul_ were being disgusting again.

Sometimes Seungkwan wish that Soonyoung and Jihoon had never hooked up. He had _prayed_ for it in fact, precisely because he knew how nauseating they would be at it. Oh, Jihoon wasn’t that bad – he was alright as long as you left him in his mancave and didn’t mess it up, but Soonyoung had no qualms about PDA, and delighted in surprising his new boyfriend with it when he thought they could get away with it.

Take now, for instance. Rather than buy a big packet of chips that everyone could take some from and share, they had a small packet between them, and they were holding Lays between their lips for the other to nibble it off. Fair deal, they were between schedules and after shooting and on the bus to the middle of some godforsaken hole in Jeollabuk-do, but there were standards!

Stingy.

_Stingy_ , to rub not only his lack of chips in, but his lack of a boyfriend.

Swallowing, he looked away, and accidentally caught the eye of the one person he did _not_ want to think about. Hansol had a habit of looking at him, claiming that it relaxed him somehow, as if a spa experience was written on his forehead.

No manners!

But… but.

But Hansol’s eyes were a lighter, softer brown than he had ever seen without contacts, especially as the sunlight slanted over them. They were beautiful and infinite, even when they flicked off him to look at the canoodling couple in the back.

When Hansol looked back and their eyes met again, it felt tremendous and heavy and made him feel vulnerable, as if his friend could invade his thoughts. Seungkwan shivered as he stared, somehow aware from the mere glance down at his lips that Hansol was thinking of kissing him as well. That he was dreaming of tasting salt and tangerines on Seungkwan’s lips. That he could see through the heavier brown down into the depths of Seungkwan’s thoughts and understand how much he _wanted_.

Seungkwan’s lips parted involuntarily, trembling as he tried to suck enough air in to breathe to cool the desire suddenly coiling low in his belly. He wanted to be the one sharing chips. He wanted to be the one to get his fingers sucked clean before getting his jaw nudged into the perfect tilt for lazy kissing. He wanted to be the one to ruffle that ugly plaid on Hansol’s shoulders with his hands and turn his hair into more of a rat’s nest than it was at the moment.

He wanted…

Seungkwan jerked his gaze away and swallowed, heart suddenly racing, and tried to concentrate on his phone instead of the strangeness of that look. He could feel it against his cheek though, and refused to look up as he heard a low chuckle. It took minutes for him to be brave enough to look up again, and when he did Hansol was facing forward to tell Jisoo-hyung a joke.

The promise lingered on the heavy afternoon air, and did not disappear throughout the rest of the visit. Every time someone offered him chips, he blushed a brilliant red and thanked his lucky stars that his slight tan made it less visible. He counted the store of his bravery every night to see if he could speak by day, could somehow claim Hansol as powerfully as his hyungdeul claimed each other. Each morning he lacked the bravery and fumed impotently, yearning for another look, the imagined taste of love and salt and freedom.

The last morning, when he finally scraped up his courage, he had barely inhaled to ask when Hansol smiled his beautiful smile.

“Finally,” his friend said. “I’ve been growing tired waiting for you, my Boo. Yes. Of course yes.”


	4. Fýrgebræc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fýrgebræc: Noun – the distinct, sharp crackling sound made by a fire.

The night nearly howled with cold. This far north daylight was so short it might as well not show up, and if it wasn’t for the logger’s hut Seokmin sheltered in, he doubt he would have survived. It was a small structure half-built into an earth wall abutting a mountain, with a double windbreak out front and a chimney for fire. There were blankets and supplies laid on in the form of canned goods, but he hadn’t wanted to impose. He was already here illegally.

Instead, he stared at the fire he had managed to start with the tiny pack of safety matches on the ledge and tried not to think of anything as he shivered and shook, trying to get warm. The snapping, crackling sound of the fire lulled him into sleepiness; he could feel the great heat against his front, and his back was cold but the thought of turning now wanted to kill him.

He spared a thought for whichever person had made this place, and wondered whether he could leave money in a mug somewhere. Just to say thanks. Just to…

He flopped to one side and dozed off, too tired from the day’s struggle to fight anymore. The rough, knotted-wool rug wasn’t too uncomfortable, and his arms made an excellent pillow.

It was way, way later – he ached with being too still – that he woke up. The fire still burned, but there was additional heat now. He fought his eyes open enough to see the blanket over him, and wanted to turn but couldn’t, neck too stiff and a massive headache threatening. Instead, he managed to wiggle one arm free and felt behind him, stilling as he did so.

Fur. Not to smooth fur of a washed cat or the pampered, sweet-smelling fur of a pet puppy, but _fur_ , the thick shaggy pelted fur of something else. Too large to be prey cuddling up to him, but the one ear that flicked away from his touch suggested something canine. Bear? Wolf? Wendigo?

His mind flip-flopped between curiosity and fear. Something behind him rumbled, not threateningly but almost soothingly, and he quickly snatched his arm back into the blanket and started praying.

Whatever it was gave a low, coughing chuff, inched even closer and appeared to go back to sleep.

Seokmin, too frightened to move, had no choice but to stare back at the fire, counting time moving between the cracks and snaps until he too fell asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * I might turn this into a longer story sometime. Just had to get this out of my skull. 
> 



	5. Ad Meliora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ad Meliora -- towards better things

Seungcheol propped his head up on one hand, trying not to stare dolefully out the window. The last few months of winter had been terrible ones, a pack of wolves that gnawed at his soul until it felt threadbare and moth-eaten. Even now, after the new year, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t doing what he should as a leader. Anxiety buzzed at him like a mosquito he couldn’t shake.

The building on the other side of the road looked pale and insipid and uninteresting. He was so busy thinking about what to do to get better that the first he knew of Hoshi’s presence was the hand that came down and trapped his tapping fingertips on the windowsill.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Soonyoung said calmly. “Look at me.”

Seungcheol wanted to snap at him, or curse, or cry, he wasn’t sure which. He turned his head against the tightness in his chest and managed to look at Soonyoung’s tip-tilted eyes. They looked warm and friendly and worried, obvious concern there. The hand over his tightened as shorter fingers wrapped around his bony wrist, fingertips landing on his pulse.

Soonyoung nodded at him. “In,” he said.

Seungcheol tried to breathe in, choked, and did it again. It felt rushed and hitched and rough, but it filled his lungs and swelled his chest out, forcing air through the tightness in his throat.

“Out.”

Breathing out was like an explosion.

“In.”

This time it was more successful, a bit smoother.

“Out.”

Breathing out wasn’t like an explosion anymore, but a bit calmer.

The two of them worked together on his breathing until Seungcheol felt calmer. It was like a smear disappearing before his eyes, allowing the world to regain a little of its colour. “Thank you,” he said after a while of just breathing, voice still whisper-tight but able to sound again. He swallowed and fought a tremble. “Did anyone else see?”

Soonyoung shook his head. “They’re all over there looking at the picture of Mingyu’s girlfriend,” he explained easily. “Vocal unit’s still at the salon. Do you want me to call Jeonghanie- _hyung_ for you?”

Seungcheol swallowed and shook his head. “No.” He reached out to pull Hoshi closer so that he could curl up and rest his head on his friend’s shoulder. “They’re going to have too much work later on. Can we just sit here and read fancafe posts?”

“No fancafe, _hyung_ ,” Soonyoung said as he got comfortable too. “I’ve got some of my comics loaded on my phone though.”

Seungcheol desperately wanted to read the posts, but Soonyoung sounded unwontedly firm. “Do you think it’ll get better one day?” he asked instead of agreeing to the comics. “This… whatever.”

“Yes,” Soonyoung said, unbothered. “You’re Choi Seungcheol. And even if it’s not tomorrow, that’s what the rest of us are here for. There are always better things out there. Read with me? We can order food later on.”

Fighting a snuffle, Seungcheol nodded into Soonyoung’s shoulder. Deep in his bones gratitude ached – he had lucked out when he got Kwon Soonyoung for a brother. “Okay.”


	6. Serendipity I

Seungkwan fought not to fall asleep.

The embassy dinner had been the most boring thing he had experienced in his _life;_ he had had to smile through a solid three hours of diplomatic wanking, and still couldn’t understand just how any could stand that kind of ego-stroking 24/7.

Well, no. Nothing like a small session to stroke one’s own ego, but damn it, there should be limits.

He barely caught his elbow slipping out from underneath his chin. It was the only thing holding him upright at the long, polished stretch of oak bar, that and the possibility of a little liquid pick-me-up from the gorgeous bottles behind it. Honestly, the protests going on outside the embassy had been more topical and more interesting, and if he hadn’t known his editor would kill him he’d have been with them.

No. Instead he had had to sit inside with the thousand-dollar plates, pretend that he enjoyed the rubber chicken, and smile like a boss at people who were like pretzels, they had their heads that far up their asses.

“At least you didn’t get smoke in your hair,” he mumbled to himself as he fumbled open the app on his phone, wondering exactly how you translated ‘give me something strong and keep it coming’.

Pausing his annual holiday to help his boss out ‘with just one favour Seungkwanie!’ ... sheesh! He was going to yell at Jeonghan-hyung so loudly when he got back!

Sitting up straight, he took a deep breath and beckoned the closest waiter over. The man held up a finger, asking for a moment, and Seungkwan gave a pent-up, puffed-cheek sigh as he slumped again. He didn’t straighten when a shadow fell over him, nor when the seat next to him abruptly got filled with a bum. Seconds later, as the truly mind-boggling colour combo registered in the corner of his eye, he shook himself awake just to see if it was truly as hair-raising as his subconscious insisted.

Hairy legs, simple shoes. The guy’s shorts was a mind-bending concoction of red with little yellow flames; his t-shirt wasn’t a nice sunny yellow but a violent mustard concoction sloppily tucked into the shorts, and to round it all off the plaid he had tossed on against the cold was the weirdest pattern he had ever seen, dark hunter green with eye-searing crosses of red and blue. Above it all, like a crowning glory, he had a vibrant red beanie on, from which raven-black locks escaped at the nape of his neck. Strong forearms, one with a braided bracelet around it, and the sharpest jawline he had ever seen on a man.

Seungkwan stared unashamedly, wanting to gape. The entire outfit look as if he had scraped it together from a local bargain bin, but the outrageous fact was that it somehow looked good. There was _something_ to the way he wore it that suggested haute couture.

Abruptly jealous, Seungkwan looked down at his Ermenegildo Zegna coat and tried not to feel under-dressed.

_Wow_ , his mind havered. _Now I have really seen everything._

The guy turned his head to look at him and smiled lazily, showing off excellent teeth. “Hey man,” he greeted in English, pronouncing the words perfectly. It allowed Seungkwan to see the strange cast of his face, the way hazel eyes hinted at a halfer. “How about that Dodgers game last night huh? Disappointing, I thought for sure they could thrash the Nationals in the game.”

Seungkwan blinked, mind made dizzy by the sudden spate of perfect English directed at him by the surfer-boy in the next seat. Hesitant, looking at his phone for rescue, he swallowed. “Uh… English not good,” he stuttered out in his hideous accent, typing frantically for a translation. “Cer…cerveza necesitaaa…um…por favour ayuda fuertay?”

The guy blinked at him and cocked his head. “¿Perdóneme?” he asked in what sounded like perfect Spanish.

Fighting a groan, shoulders rounding, Seungkwan frantically prayed to the gods as he attempted to get his point across. “You… man busy, he wait on drinks?” he finally struggled out. “Strong drink?” He pointed to the bottles behind the bar and wiggled his pinky and finger in the air. “I need drink drink you want tell him please?”

Hazel eyes crinkled a little with mirth as the guy propped his one cheek up with his fist, apparently _fascinated_ by the fool that Seungkwan was making of himself. “Shaka?” he asked primly, duplicating the shake of thumb and pinky.

It was enough to make Seungkwan’s lower lip want to wobble into a pout, and he looked away with a huff. “Oh my gooooosh I hate being here in this country, I can’t even ask a guy if he wants a drink,” he muttered to himself. “All I want is a drink, is that too much to ask for? I swear to god I should never have told hyung I would do this for him, this is terrible.” He lifted one hand to scrub at his face, putting his phone away as a lost cause as he looked away. Perhaps he should just have gone directly to bed.

Seconds later, sliding over the bar with all the hesitance of a peace offering, came a bowl of peanuts. “It’s free,” the guy next to him said in perfect, idiomatic Korean. “You look as if your blood sugar is low, dude. I’ll order, what do you want?”

“Er, uh… bour…” That’s how far Seungkwan got before his eyes widened and he jerked his head around to glare at the guy. “You speak Korean!” he accused, posture straightening with a snap. “And you made me struggle like that!”

The guy’s lips twitched. “In my own defense, I wanted to see how far you’d go,” he said happily. “Your Spanish accent is really cute.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “My Spanish accent is atrocious,” he mumbled, embarrassed again. “And no thank you, I can’t eat those, my face will swell the worst.” He did pout then, glancing away. “Bourbon, please,” he asked meekly. “I had the worst party just now. I need a big drink, a really big one. Get one for yourself too as thanks for helping? Anything! My boss really owes me so he’s picking up the tab.”

The guy’s smile stretched wider, transforming his slouchy good looks into something truly beautiful. “In that case, let’s get top-shelf,” he suggested.

Seungkwan watched happily as the guy called something down the length of the bar to the waiter.

Two beautiful glasses materialized soon after, filled with two balls of ice before the bartender removed a bottle reverently. Seungkwan watched just as reverently, almost greedily, and the sigh he gave as he took his sip was low, almost hungry. The amber-hued liquid burned down his throat from the small sip he gave, lips momentarily chilled from the ice. It wasn’t raw at all, but the smoothest thing he had ever drunk, easier to get down than his first glass of soju had been. His brows knit together.

“My dude,” came from his side. “No shade, but you look like life stepped on you today.”

He took another sip before he gained enough courage to glance sideways. “I’m supposed to be on holiday,” he muttered. “But my boss still made me go to the embassy party here. I think I got more enjoyment out of the rubber chicken’s conversational skills than that of the diplomats. I’m sure their jokes were less leaden too.” Another sip before he sighed, shoulders finally slumping down. “Boo Seungkwan. Thank you for rescuing me, Mister Trilingual Speaker. Your Korean is excellent.”

The guy saluted him with the glass of bourbon; the ice inside it chimed as the liquid sloshed around slightly. “Chwe Hansol,” he said with a shit-eating grin. “It should be good, I’ve lived there since I was five. My folks used to live in Hongdae before they moved back here. I still work there.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks puffed up. “And you were just watching me struggle like that! How unkind, Chwe Hansol-ssi! I wonder what the odds are to meet another Korean guy here though!”

Hansol smothered a laugh into his bourbon. “I don’t know?” he said vaguely. “But slightly better than average, since this is a gay bar and my friends dared me to come up here and hit on you.”

Right on cue, Seungkwan choked on his next sip of bourbon, almost spraying it out on the bar. It burned up the back of his nose, stung at his eyes, and he had to cough desperately to get his throat clear. Serviettes appeared and he grabbed them with shaking hands to pat his eyes dry; he wished it was polite manners to blow his nose in public.

“You… you…” he got out.

“You didn’t know?

Hansol laughed so loudly it sounded like a donkey braying; he almost slipped off his chair and Seungkwan pondered shoving him off for a second. Or kicking. Or punching his shoulder.

“It’s a gay bar?” he squeaked when he finally got his throat clear. “What? Your friends did?”

“Mhm,” Hansol murmured, putting his glass down before he hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Over there in the corner. Look for the largest bunch of assholes you can see.”

Ears red, Seungkwan tried not to be obvious about peering over his shoulder, but Hansol’s friends saw him anyway, cheering and waving. He yanked his gaze back, trying not to implode with embarrassment.

Hansol peered at him. “Hey, it’s ok,” he said softly. “No one knows you here. Did someone direct you incorrectly?”

“No,” Seungkwan gritted out. “I just looked it up and the place had a nice rating, and it’s not far from my hotel.” He looked around surreptitiously. “If it’s a gay bar, why are there women around?” he hissed softly.

Hansol shrugged. “Some of them are non-straight too. Others are just here to be able to drink in a place without men ogling them. Lots of reasons. This is Los Angeles, not Seoul. The gays aren’t tucked away in Itaewon. I can give you the name of a straight bar if it bothers you.”

Hearing such a viewpoint from a guy rocking board-shorts and the ugliest plaid ever seen intrigued Seungkwan enough to forget his embarrassment. “No,” he muttered. “No, that’s okay.” He took a fortifying sip of bourbon, surprised that his fatigue had receded somewhat. “So your friends, when they made the bet with you, what were the terms?”

One sip, then another, before Hansol sighed. “I had to get your number and a date or I’d have to buy them a round.”

“Oh. I…um? Not sure what to say?”

“My dude, I don’t care. I’ll buy them the round. You were just sitting here and looking miserable, so I thought I’d come over and say hi.”

Seungkwan stared at the strange, strange creature at his side, touched by a stranger’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Tonight really has been horrible. I was supposed to be going to Hawaii tomorrow for a vacation, but my boss nabbed me at the last moment. To be honest, I don’t even know how to order food here, the lady at the Starbucks tried her best not to laugh but I could see she wanted to. I’ve not even been able to order off room-service.”

Hansol blinked and stared at him, horrified. “When last did you eat real food?” he asked.

“I think… yesterday evening somewhere?” Seungkwan muttered, clearing out the last of his bourbon. “Dinner on the plane before we landed. I was so out of it I slept until this afternoon.”

“Not even the rubber chicken?”

“Not really.”

Hansol frowned. “That bourbon is going to hit you like a lead weight. You should order an Uber to Baekjeong, they should still be open. Best Korean food in town, especially if your boss is paying for this.” His eyes squinched into a gentle smile. “It was really nice meeting you, Boo Seungkwan-ssi, and your English isn’t that terrible, you know? You should have more faith in yourself.”

Seungkwan watched as Hansol drained his glass and slid off the chair, nibbling on the inside of his lip.

_It’s just one night. You’re literally on the other side of the home from where you live, and you’re never going to see these people again. How much braver do you need to get? Besides, he’s pretty and kind, as long as you look past the outfit…_

“Wait,” he blurted unsure if it was the bourbon talking; his cheeks stung with embarrassment again. “Do you want to come with? You can tell your friends it’s a date or whatever, if they ask. I can’t eat barbeque alone.”

Hansol blinked before his smile tamped down from something commiserating to something interested. “Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.

Seungkwan slipped off his chair under the power of that smile, slow in finding his balance. “Yes,” he said, and meant it. “Come on, my treat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * A piece that I've been trying to write forever for Pipes, but I am struggling so much with it. 
>   * Note: the opinions re: gay bars are purely made up for this piece. I don't have a problem with them, and I don't know what the idols' would be. Just fantasy, people. 
>   * Seungkwan's family is rich-rich in this one. As an example, his [coat](https://www.mrporter.com/en-us/mens/product/ermenegildo-zegna/clothing/winter-coats/double-breasted-cashmere-coat/11813139151229171). 
> 



	7. Serendipity II

Hawaii.

Hawaii was _beautiful,_ and Seungkwan felt like running all over Maui practically from the moment he set foot on it. It was a lot more tropical than Jeju, with the concomitant increase in humidity and flora, and it smelled indefinably different, but the beaches were the same and his ocean view was magnificent and best of all there was apparently a world-class spa on the premises that rivalled the ones back home.

He paused to let the door of his suite slide shut behind him and left his suitcases right there, moving in quick steps over to the bedroom. For a moment he flew as he jumped at the bed; seconds later as he sank deep down into the downy comfort of the large bed. He grunted once at the comfort, reached up to wiggled deeper into the pillows, and promptly decided to take a nap. It was so warm he didn’t even need a blanket, and he could kick off his shoes from here, and…

If only Mingyu could have been here as they had planned.

Silly family obligations!

The phone beeped just as he drifted off, yanking him back. Sighing dramatically, he rolled over onto his back, yanked it out of his pocket and glared at the screen with one eye as his thumb swiped the intricate access pattern.

Seconds later, blinking, he sat up straight. It wasn’t from anyone he knew, and it was a fairly large message, one with an attachment. He dubiously opened his messaging, immediately recoiled from the vibrant red and yellow PFP of the sender, and was on the verge of deleting it before he saw the title of the chat.

_Trilinguals Anonymous_

It was weird, just weird enough to interest him, and he flicked over to the chat itself.

_< Unknown Contact>: Remember to eat this time. I got you a list of Hawaiian food name translations off Naver in case your Shaka game remains weak._

The PDF contained a long list of food names both in English and Hawaiian, along with a direct translation into Korean on the right.

_Oh._

His heart pinched a little, touched by Hansol’s continuing generosity. He hadn’t hit on him or tried to make Seungkwan pick up the whole tab – Seungkwan had, but he wanted to – and had safely pointed him into an Uber bound for his hotel at ass-o-clock in the morning, all without any scummy pick-up moves. In fact, for such a fashion terrorist he had been the perfect companion, and they had parted good acquaintances. Honestly, if Seungkwan hadn’t been so full and drunk he _would_ have hit on Chwe Hansol a little; instead they had just exchanged numbers.

Well, no. Seungkwan had drunkenly insisted on sharing his number after a long, rambling explanation about friends that couldn’t be there. If Chwe Hansol _had_ been a scammer, last night would have been like winning the lottery.

Seungkwan curled over on his side and pouted, holding the screen close to stare at the atrocity that was the PFP. He had everything in life that he wanted: his mother had been rich enough to give them whatever they wanted, he worked because he felt the need to, not because he had to, and his previous affairs have been discreet things shallower than a puddle on pavement. He had even been blessed enough to have a family that didn’t care that he was gay and would never have kids the ‘normal’ way; his oldest sister had sat him down and lectured him once when he felt sad about it, explaining that only heirs like herself need to worry about kids, and that baby brothers should have fun and _live._

If it hadn’t been for his work he would have drifted through life.

For a moment he wondered why it felt so much different now that he had Chwe Hansol’s example to compare to.

Nibbling at his lower lip, he created the contact, grinned and went back to the chat.

**Boo-bop:**

Thank you, Hansol-ssi, I appreciate it.  
My Shaka game is not weak how dare you  
(#｀ε´)

**Fashion Disaster:**

no lies just fax  
are you enjoying the island?

** Boo-bop: **

Just got settled in.

** Fashion Disaster: **

dude that is so sick i am jealous  
are you gonna do any activities or just veg out

** Boo-bop: **

I haven’t checked what they have available but some hiking I think?  
And maybe the ziplines but they’re a bit scary.  
(ﾟωﾟ；)  
And the spa?  
This must sound boring, I’m sorry.  
Thank you for taking such good care of me yesterday.

**Fashion Disaster:**

no worries  
told you i didn’t mind  
remember not to wander into any gay bars

Seungkwan let the phone droop out of his hand and smiled into the pillow, fighting the grin that wanted to develop.

**Boo-bop:**

I don’t think they have them around here?  
I’ll use the translator app next time.  
Being out is so secretive at home, you’ve got a lot of courage!  
Do you go to them in Seoul too?

**Fashion Disaster:**

dude haha no are you kidding  
my friends just dragged me with for the lols  
i'm not gay

**Boo-bop:**

∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)  
I’m so sorry, I just thought…  
I’m so sorry, Hansol-ssi!  
Please forgive me!

**Fashion Disaster:**

aahahahahahahahaha  
got you  
don’t worry i'm bi

** Boo-bop: **

(ʘ言ʘ╬)  
ヽ(*｀ﾟД´)ﾉ  
That was so horrible! I thought I insulted you!  
Yah, Chwe Hansol!  
You’re mean!

**Fashion Disaster:**

**Boo-bop:**

Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.

**Fashion Disaster:**

i am not a confident gay at home  
my parents don’t mind  
but  
its awkward you know?  
mostly the gays turn their nose up at me  
n i dont like the atmosphere there

**Boo-Bop:**

It’s because you dress like a hobo.  
A very cute hobo.  
But a hobo.

**Fashion Disaster:**

dude thats so mean  
youre meaner than my sister after watching drag race  
besides their booze is overpriced  
i am but a humble soundcloud rapper

**Boo-Bop:**

You rap, Hansol-ssi?  
Send me the link!  
I wish I could rap, but I can only really sing.

**Fashion Disaster:**

later  
you need to go and eat first  
am betting you are skipping again

** Boo-Bop: **

Uh…

**Fashion Disaster:**

you forgot again amirite?  
go eat

Seungkwan blinked muzzily outside. He had remembered to put the light on sometime earlier, but it was full dark outside already, and the clock on the bedside table made him scramble. He dialed room service with shaking fingers and slowly read what he wanted off to the nice lady on the other side with a burgeoning feeling of pride in his chest.

His back and neck cracked as he straightened, throwing on more lights, and he busied himself in the huge bathroom until his food came. His waiter didn’t need much conversation, just smiled at the tip, and soon he was setting on the couch of the large suite, staring outside. The poke-bowl went down well, but the glass of wine with it made him feel morose and alone. Flashes of the night before ran through his mind, especially the laughter as they had consumed ginormous servings of meat at the restaurant.

Nibbling at his lip, he slugged the wine back and went for a shower to clear his thoughts.

** Boo-Bop: **

Hansol-ssi, have you ever been to Hawaii?

**Fashion Disaster:**

nah dude i’m not made from money  
only reason i'm in la is my mom has family here  
lucky i knew some guys here

** Boo-Bop: **

That’s nice, you knowing people there…  
(◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)  
I miss Mingyu-hyung.  
I wish I knew people here too.  
Should have cancelled rather than still coming here.  
(ᗒᗩᗕ)

** Fashion Disaster: **

dude what happened you were laughing earlier  
cmon cheer up

** Boo-Bop: **

I was just thinking of last night.  
I genuinely had a nice time, Hansol-ssi.  
And now it’s just me here again.

**Fashion Disaster:**

i was better than the rubber chicken huh  
high praise  
soz dude  
dunno what to say

**Boo-Bop:**

(ﾟωﾟ；)  
Do you… do you want to visit here?  
Just as a friend?  
The suite has two bedrooms.  
Or do you have to go back soon?

**Fashion Disaster:**

dude  
dude i wish I could  
it would be nice  
but i genuinely don’t have the money dude  
nah we are only heading back on the 21st  
you caught me on the first night of my holiday too

Seungkwan’s bottom lip was getting a workout and he knew, he _knew_ he was about five seconds away from a pout. He considered, looking guiltily at the open closet door and all the designer clothes inside. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it and indeed, Mingyu had been slated to come with before his grandfather thought up a thing, hence the suite…

** Boo-Bop: **

I can pay, I don’t mind.

**Fashion Disaster:**

i know you are rich dude  
but thats too much right?

** Boo-Bop: **

My friend was supposed to be here as well.  
I think that’s why I’m feeling so lonely?  
I don’t mind! It’s not like you’re a scummy pick-up artist.  
…at least not going by your clothes.

** Fashion Disaster: **

just because you like boring clothes  
you probably dont have the legs for tie-dye shorts  
dont be a hater bro

** Boo-bop: **

Excuse you!  
I have the best legs!  
These are Mister Korea legs!

**Fashion Disaster:**

boo seungkwan after leg day

**Boo-Bop:**

┗(｀Дﾟ┗(｀ﾟДﾟ´)┛ﾟД´)┛  
You’re so rude!

**Fashion Disaster:**

**Boo-Bop:**

I do, I have great legs!  
See?

  
Listen.  
You only wish you had legs like these.

**Fashion Disaster:**

you look like such a gangnam preppy boy  
10/10 would call cute  
were you going in to the office?  
are you gonna make your boss pay for the ticket too?

**Boo-Bop:**

Thank you!  
(((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))  
Does that mean you’ll come visit?  
Say yes!  
Please come visit!  
Give me your email, I will book your ticket right now!

**Fashion Disaster:**

one condition

**Boo-Bop:**

What?!  
Oh, and your passport number too!  
How long can you stay?  
You’re not working right now, right?  
Can you stay for two weeks?

**Fashion Disaster:**

but dude i am serious i have no free money  
i'm saving up for a new recording pc  
will you be ok with just being on the beach?  
ig i can stay that long i will just have to get the ticket home changed

** Boo-Bop: **

Most of the stuff is already paid for two people!  
I told you about Mingyu’s family thing earlier right?  
Send me that too! My mom’s travel desk might be able to get you a better deal!  
（｡>‿‿<｡ ）  
I’m so excited!  
What’s the condition?

**Fashion Disaster:**

u have to wear this on the plane home

** Boo-Bop: **

…suddenly I’m not lonely at all.

** Fashion Disaster: **

ahahahahahahahaha  
taste the rainbow

[Attachment: flightdetails.zip]


	8. Serendipity III

In protest, Seungkwan did not wear a tie-dye shirt of any kind to the airport the next morning, but the most depressingly gray thing he could find. He cursed his decision thirty minutes later, stepping from the resort’s airport shuttle into the wet heat outside; scurrying indoors as quickly as he could, he went to hunt for a Starbucks and made himself at home in Arrivals. It wouldn’t take long, not according to the board bearing the arrival times.

When he finally spotted Chwe Hansol he nearly choked on the coffee.

Pristine white and red and blue, the other man looked like a classy version of the American flag. Red beanie, sleeveless white shirt and blue jeans, complete with airpods and an old duffel over his shoulder, Chwe Hansol couldn’t look more casual, nor could his smile be any wider when he spotted Seungkwan. He jerked his chin in greeting and broke into a trot, smile widening every few steps. “Hyung!” he greeted, totally outpacing the poor woman that had wanted to put a lei around his neck. “Seungkwan-hyung!”

_Oh my_ god _I look like a disaster next to him. How does he do this?_

Seungkwan discreetly cleared his throat and stood, tossing the cup into a nearby bin. “I’m surprised and disappointed,” he drawled. “You’re not an eye-searing concoction of fabric today. I even dressed especially to offset it.”

Hansol wrinkled his nose. “Is that why you’re wearing that? It looks like you escaped from a prison.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks swelled with a huff of irritation. “Shut it,” he pouted. “Come on.”

Hansol’s laughter followed him all the way to the airport shuttle. They set off soon afterwards, trailing away from the concrete and glass. Seungkwan, sunglasses firmly on, used the opportunity to study Hansol. He wasn’t leaning out of the window – none of them wanted to mess up the aircon – but he had his head pressed against the window, phone out to take picture of the area they drove through.

It felt like a moment like no other. The driver had the radio on softly, with a man’s voice coming from it. He had a husky, warm voice that suited the morning air perfectly; even though he sang in English Seungkwan could catch the odd word to understand. Sighing softly, abruptly happy, he turned to look out of the window as well, humming along softly.

_…where trouble melts like lemon drops, high above the chimney top…_

They only spoke again when they pulled in to the hotel’s porch. Feeling at ease, Seungkwan stretched and waited for his new friend to get his duffel, feeling the pressure between his shoulder-blades ease off slowly.

“Hawai’i,” Hansol murmured softly as he padded to stand next to him, looking up at the tall curve of the building. “I never thought I’d ever visit here.”

Seungkwan glanced at him. Even though his skin was light, his smile was very white too, and it seemed so little-boy-excited that he couldn’t help smile. “You want to see our room? Or do you want to have breakfast first?”

On cue, Hansol’s stomach rumbled.

“Nevermind,” Seungkwan laughed. “Breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * The lyrics fragment is from 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' by the magnificent [Iz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1bFr2SWP1I).
> 



	9. Laced with Feisty I

“What the hell is this?” Mingyu exclaimed irritably, holding up the latest sample.

Vernon rubbed at his eyes and looked at the confection of silk and lace. “Panties,” he said as drily as he could manage. “They’re panties. I know you don’t have experience, but even you should be able to recognize that.”

Mingyu gave him a glare that nearly set his sketchbook aflame. “Look, just because I’m straight…”

Vernon blinked slowly at him, staring without words. Even as tired as he was, it was funny to see Mingyu’s mind pause, reboot, and continue.

Mingyu took a slow, deep breath. “My point is that you should design something people would look good in. This right here? This would require Korea’s ass to look good in. Even I can’t look good in these, and the gods know that I can look good in a paper bag.”

Vernon stared some more, just for the fun of it.

_Say what you want about Kim Mingyu, but at least he’s self-assured._

He looked down at his sketchbook, paged through the numerous little scraps of lace and satin and strappy bits stapled to the example sheets, and sighed. The man had a point. He designed for men mostly, and the model usually did make his stuff look good, but it’d take a special kind of ass to pull his spring collection off.

“You typoed there,” Mingyu pointed out helpfully, pointing at a spot on the page.

Vernon frowned and looked, then grinned. “No, that was Hannie’s suggestion. ‘Sprung’ collection. Like a pun, or a play on words? Because if you see them, you…”

Mingyu interjected hastily. “I get it. That man’s mind is filthy; how Jisoo ever manages to keep him on the straight and narrow I don’t know. But my point stands. Unless you can somehow find the galaxy’s number one ass for these latest… experiments of yours, this collection is going to fail, and I’ve yet to see a single male model walk about with an ass this bootylicious. I don’t even know why, _your_ ass is as flat as a brick.”

“Pity,” Vernon mumbled. “Just put it over there on the heap, ok? I’ll go and think about this.” This time he rubbed at the furrow between his brows with the back of his pencil, slumping down over his desk as Mingyu left. His friend had a point, but this season was supposed to be all about fantasy, all about imagination and naughtiness and sass, yet it was like fighting an uphill battle all the time.

Fuck it. Perhaps the weekend getaway at Jihan’s place would be good for fresh inspiration. As it was, he’d need it if his brand was to make it through its first year.

* * *

“Ooooh, now that’s saucy,” Soonyoung muttered as he peeked over Hansol’s shoulder, beer in hand. “I like that lacy bit there. You’re going to make them in extra-small right? Do they come in stripes?”

Hansol pondered that question and the myriad answers he could give.

The thing he appreciated most about Hannie and Jisoo’s weekend parties wasn’t the drink, nor the food, but the people that visited there. Case in point: Kwon Soonyoung, famous stunt actor, tiger wannabe, and secretly one of the kindest men he knew despite how loud he was, or how much he acted up for the crowd. Very few people knew that the ring on his left hand wasn’t just a decoration, but a wedding ring. He had been there for the overseas ceremony, one of the few trusted to be there.

“You think you’re going to fit into extra-small?” he asked, amused. “I thought Kwon Fire only came in extra-large.”

Soonyoung took a sip from the beer and shrugged insouciantly. “You know they’re not for me.”

“I also know he won’t touch anything with tiger stripes, no matter how much you might want it.”

Soonyoung gave him a rascally grin and pushed him to one side on the hammock strung up in Jisoo’s pool area, giving exactly zero fucks about snuggling up close and taking the book from him to leaf through.

Hansol grimaced. He didn’t mind his friends looking, none of them judged, but sharing a sketchbook was like sharing your fantasies and your soul, and he didn’t like that on display all that much. Zipping his lip, he took the beer from Soonyoung and slugged back a large sip.

Pages rustled slowly. “You know,” Soonyoung said minutes later. “We make fun, but you’re really kind of talented, Hansol-ah. The gay community owes you big time, these are like reading a soft-porn book, just the right amount of feisty. I’m seeing a big problem though.”

Another slug of beer. “I know,” Hansol muttered. “Mingyu has already been at me. I’m going to need Korea’s ass to pull these off, and they’re going to need to be self-assured as fuck.”

Soonyoung snorted. “Most models are neurotic bitches, and you may tell Mingyu that for me… wait, no, is he still that tall? Don’t tell him. He’s right on this one though, were you thinking of catering to the female market in the long run?”

“I don’t think it’s about catering to the male or female market,” Hansol said wearily. “I want to make something that all orientations can look at and buy. There’s a whole cross-over market out there that’s going untapped. It’s not just boxers and whore panties, you know.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Soonyoung said drily. “You know those boxers you gave me to try on the other month? My _noona_ stole them, she claims they’re the most comfortably thing she’s ever worn. I don’t think she’d’ve taken them off if she didn’t have to wash them.” He took his beer back, exchanging it for the sketch book. “I’ve not even tried them myself.”

Hansol grinned at him. “Good for your _noona_. I’ll send you some more.” He pondered. “Mingyu said I’d have to get Korea’s ass to model these. I don’t suppose you know anyone like that?”

Soonyoung struggled to get out of the hammock, barely keeping himself from falling flat on his face. “No, but I’ll ask Jihoonie for you. Perhaps there’s someone amongst all those idols he knows. But it’ll cost you.”

Rolling his eyes, Hansol turned to stretch out in the hammock. “Yes, alright _hyung_ , I’ll make you a pair with stripes on them. But don’t blame me if he strangles you with them.”

Soonyoung walked away, cackling.

Hansol let the _ye-heh, ye-heh_ of it calm him as he wiggled to get comfortable. The party wouldn’t get started until later, so perhaps a nap wouldn’t go amiss, and this hammock was damn comfortable…

* * *

Hansol woke up confused, blinking up at the darkness above his head. His eyes took a moment to focus and see the stars, and it was enough time for the strange, soft splashing sound to come again.

_How long have I slept? Why didn’t anyone wake me?_

He could smell the grill going already over on the other side of the house, along with lots of singing and laughter and dance music. Against that the splashing noises almost faded away, but every so often he could hear the sound of arms slicing into the water, or a light humming from a voice that was really quite nice.

Grimacing at the stiffness in his limbs he pushed his sketchbook away and peeked over the edge of the hammock, curious. It took him a moment or two to realise what he was seeing, but it slowly came into focus: someone was swimming lazily to and fro in the swimming pool with strong, clean strokes. The humming came from them as well, vaguely restful and masculine. It formed such a strange picture in his mind that he watched, entranced, until the person got to the other side of the pool to haul themselves out, and he promptly tried to swallow his tongue.

They were naked. Someone was _skinny-dipping_ , definitely neither Jeonghan or Jisoo. He knew his friends’ shapes well enough to create underwear for them, let alone identify them at a distance, and this wasn’t anyone he knew. He watched, spellbound, as moonlight slid over strong, wet shoulders and water sheeted into the curve of a waist, then over the most perfect ass he had ever seen. It was round and wonderful and his mouth watered with the desire to bite it, litter the perfect skin with marks. Strong sleek legs, perfect feet.

_Holy shit it exists, it’s Korea’s ass right in front of my face!_

His scramble to get out of the hammock was the least graceful he had ever been. His feet tangled, he flipped the wrong way and the hammock tilted him out on his face; he nearly cracked his nose landing like that, and the sound of his impact was meaty and loud, surprising a squeak out of the mystery man. 

“Wait!” he yelled despairingly, groaning from pain. “Hey, wait!”

The last he saw of the guy was a twinkle of legs running towards the house, and he drooped his head onto the cement to grunt with pain and failure.


	10. Laced With Feisty II

“But _hyung_ , are you sure you’ll be alright?” Chan asked, voice tight with worry. “I know your boyfriend was an asshole, but just giving him the stuff you two earned together? That’s not right, is it? Do you want me to speak to Cheollie for you?”

Seungkwan fought against a fresh bout of tears, refusing to shed another tear on the prick that had broken up with him just before their holiday together in Europe. He bit the tip of his tongue until the desire to cry faded, and managed a smile for his _dongsaeng_. “It’s okay. I just wanted him to get out of my life, so if that’s what it takes then that’s what it takes.” He slowed down on the treadmill and hauled his towel closer to wipe at his face. “No need to get your sugar daddy involved.”

“ _Hyung_!” Chan complained. “Boyfriend. Please. He doesn’t actually give me money, okay?”

Seungkwan’s mood shifted mercurially; he had to fight a smile now. “He gives you gifts, little dinosaur, and takes you on trips, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t pout at me like that, I wrote the book on it. You must be the only student I know without student debt.”

Chan scoffed and looked the other way; Seungkwan could barely stop a laugh from bubbling up. Instead he upped the speed on the treadmill and ran until his legs burned.

Later, after the two of them had hopped through a shower, Chan tried again. “You’ll come to the party with us this weekend though, right?” he prodded. “You know, the one at Jihan’s? Hannie’s going to moan if you’re not there, he’s already pissed off that you skipped the last one.”

“You’re his baby, not me.”

Chan rolled his eyes and grumped, staring down at the menu for the juice bar. “I’m paying,” he muttered into it as he spotted Seungkwan reaching for his wallet. “How’s the modelling gig going? You’re still doing that, right? Any jobs lined up?”

Seungkwan had to hide another smile with his hand. “Nothing soon. I’m free for the next while, but the agency has my head-shots in case someone comes looking.”

“Have you ever… um.” Chan coloured a little. “Have you ever considered doing non-clothing stuff? Like… like underwear and stuff? Or shoes? Or jewellery? You have nice hands, _hyung_.”

_Gods, he cares so much, it’s so cute._

“Have you seen my ass?” Seungkwan asked drily. “And I don’t have the abs to put on the billboards.” He rolled his eyes as Chan automatically started to argue. “It’s fine,” he soothed. “I know my strengths. I don’t have anything against it, you know me. I just don’t get cast for that very often. Look… I really appreciate that you’re trying to cheer me up, but I’m _fine_. Stop angsting over me and let’s start arguing about guys and clothes and music like normal, okay?”

“But _hyung_ …”

Groaning, Seungkwan fake-collapsed over the table. “What will it take to get you to stop?” he whined.

“Come to Hannie’s party this weekend,” Chan promptly said. “And afterwards, Cheollie literally has a thousand other apartments here in Seoul. Let me arrange one for you, okay?”

“Fine,” Seungkwan grumbled, lured more by the idea of not returning to the small apartment he mistakenly loved an asshole in than the party. “Fine. Just… just shut up, ok? And tell me about your studies.”

* * *

Hong Jisoo’s home in the countryside was enormous, a testament to what could be done with money if one had it. Everything was tastefully done, from the massive gardens to the relaxation spaces to the bedrooms. From what Seungkwan had heard it had been rather less so before he had hooked up with Yoon Jeonghan, who insisted everyone call him Hannie. They had been together for a few years now, both drama actors that got paid very well on top of the huge inheritance Jisoo had, well, inherited.

From what Chan had said, his boyfriend had known them since childhood; Hannie had practically adopted Chan as their son, and constantly scolded Seungcheol into taking ‘better’ care of him, but that was the kind of person both were: fickle but generous, with the hugest hearts he knew of. They knew the most interesting people too, and their weekend getaways were lovely, sybaritic and sometimes very raucous.

Take now, for instance. He stood with one hip braced against the counter as Hannie scolded Seungcheol for getting there too late in the evening, never mind that it had been Chan’s classes that had run late. Seungcheol had an expression like a nervous, irritated puppy: he clearly wanted to bite back but just as clearly he loved them both too much to do much more than grunt and sip aggressively at his beer.

Seungkwan grinned as he turned away, peeking outside the kitchen window. It looked over the back garden, the pool and the rest of the wilder nature until you hit the traditional-style hanok off in the distance. It was very dark outside, with everyone on the other side of the house at the grill; for a moment he wished he could run and splash into the pool. It had been entirely too long since he swam, which was a _scandalous_ thing to admit of a boy that practically grew up on the beach.

“Kwan-ah,” Jisoo said next to him, one arm slipping around his neck. “Chan SMSed to let us know what happened. You ok, bud? You know you can stay here if you want to get away for a little.”

Seungkwan grumped. “Has he told everyone? He’s going to kill my ego… _yes,_ I’m fine. That little shit has already gotten Seungcheol to put me up rent-free in one of his fancy apartments. I guess it really is all about who you know.”

Jisoo laughed softly, beautiful face reflected in the glass next to his. “He really is Hannie’s son in spirit, I guess. You ok? You keep on looking out at the pool.”

Nibbling his lip, Seungkwan grumbled. “I want to go for a swim, but I didn’t bring anything but a change of clothing for tomorrow. It’s such a lovely night for it too.”

“Why don’t you just go skinny-dipping? No one’s going to see you on this side of the house, the party’s on the other side. I’d offer you one of my costumes but…”

Laughing, Seungkwan peeked sideways. “But you don’t wear one either. It’s a good thing you’re so rich, you must go through suntan lotion like mad.” He chewed on his lip again. “Are you sure it’ll be okay?”

Arms wrapped around him from behind and Hannie rested his chin on his shoulder. “Will what be okay? Tell, tell!”

“Kwannie wants to go swimming.”

“Excellent idea,” Hannie said devilishly. “Off you go, I need a new backside to admire, and you have the best one after all.”

Seungkwan felt the blush crawl across his cheeks. He never blushed when modelling, or flirting, or _anything,_ but Yoon Jeonghan had the ability to make a rock blush with just a casual turn of phrase. “No one will see?”

Hannie pulled away to smack him on the butt. “No one. We’ll leave you a towel here in the kitchen. Go on.”

Grinning, Seungkwan went.

* * *

Seungkwan ran into the kitchen like the devil was behind him, pausing only to scoop up the towel and wrap it around him. He had to hold it tight as he hotfooted it through the large hanok towards the other side of the place. He nearly slid going through the long corridor, barely keeping to his feet as he scooted the last few feet towards the bedrooms. Bursting into Jihan’s bedroom, ignoring the couple stupid enough to make out there, he thundered towards the closet and pulled out the most voluminous robe he could find.

He didn’t _care_ that it was the flowered Gucci bathrobe that Jeonghan only wore when he was feeling feisty. He yanked that sucker on so quickly the towel barely had time to drop, sashed it tightly around his waist and slammed the closet door shit, only to glare at the couple making out on the bed.

Wait.

“I thought you were straight,” he accused Wonwoo, squinting at the tall, handsome stranger he was straddling.

“Get _out_ ,” Wonwoo groaned.

Seungkwan got, extra-piqued now, and in the mood to rat everyone out. His hair was dripping water down his neck onto the expensive silk as well, but he stomped forth, uncaring. Getting to the patio, he stomped out into the music-filled mass, surging through until he located the least devil-looking devil out there. “ _Hyung_!” he called, pointing straight at Hannie. “ _Hyung_ , you liar! Someone saw me!”

Jeonghan blinked from his spot chatting up an older film star. His eyes rounded for a second, then narrowed as he saw what Seungkwan was wearing. “What? I didn’t…”

“Holy shiiiiiiit,” came dopplering from the side, and someone nearly ran him over to get to Jisoo beyond Jeonghan. “Holy shit Jisoo, I just saw the perfect guy, who is he, how do you know him? I have to know who he is!”

Jeonghan’s mouth snapped shut and he looked between Seungkwan and the guy with large, round eyes. Beyond him, it was pathetically easy to see enlightenment dawn on Jisoo’s face. There was some regret there, but _not enough_.

Jisoo cleared his throat. “Chwe Hansol… meet Boo Seungkwan,” he said gently. “Seungkwan-ah, this is Chwe Hansol.”

Seungkwan’s head snapped to the side and he stared at the man that had spied on him with huge eyes. “You!” he shouted, raking back straggling locks of wet hair from his expression. His jaw tightened. He didn’t care that he had a face like a statue, or a hard body, or was a little taller; Chwe Hansol had wronged him, and that demanded payment of some sort.

Hansol looked around at his shout, and his eyes widened as well. “Korea’s ass?” he asked dumbly.

Jeonghan laughed delightedly and Jisoo winced. The actor looked confused and entranced.

Seungkwan hauled back and punched him right in his perfect face, hard as he could, and had the very great pleasure of seeing Chwe Hansol’s eyes cross over before he collapsed, knocked unconscious.


	11. Hillbillies I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I had to move the rating up because of how much Jihoon curses in this one.

The first warning Jihoon got of his impending doom came from the ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ blasting its way down the hall. It was so loud that it penetrated his Bose headphones. It was like Lynyrd Skynyrd had personally come down from heaven to announce Moon Junhui like some fantastic fucking cowboy chorus. It never boded  _ anyone _ good to hear that coming towards them. In fact, the only thing he had seen that had been worse was Jeonghan trying to be Nicole Scherzinger in Jai Ho, and that still haunted him.

“God shit fuck damnit,” he cursed, tossing his headphones off hurriedly. He tripped trying to get his keys, but made up for time as he jumped over the edge of the couch and slid towards the door, leather jacket flapping behind him like a flag. He said a little prayer, flung the door open and…

...and there, standing with a Stetson and a belt buckle larger than Texas, stood Moon Junhui like the horrible little love-baby of the South and fucking Matthew Mcconaughey that he was.

“Shit,” Jihoon cursed out loud.

“Jihoonie!” Jun called, grinning with a rat-tat of finger-guns. “How you doin’, cowboy?”

“Please Jesus no,” Jihoon begged. “I will literally pay you if you forgot you saw me.”

Jun’s smile glimmered and the deviltry he refused to hide gleamed in his brown eyes. “Hyung!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Hyung, he’s trying to get away! Want me to lasso him for you? Little bitty steer like him, barely even clown level at the rodeo!”

Jihoon stared, mouth gaping open before he flicked his gaze to the side, dipped down, and went for it. Jun lunged but he slipped out, sacrificing his jacket for freedom. Kicking off his slippers - he couldn’t run in the goddamn things - he faked left and ran right, pressing one hand on a windowsill to give him a little boost.

“Blue Seventeen!” Jun yelled behind him as if possessed. “Blue Seventeen!”

“Shit!” Jihoon screeched, careening around a corner in the hallway. His eyes widened as a solid, thickly-muscled figure charged up the staircase.

You could say what you wanted of the frat president, but Choi Seungcheol, master kegger and football team ace, moved like greased lightning. He had once seen him tackle a quarterback at full running speed, and they had had to time-out to collect the other guy’s spleen. Grimacing, eyes flicking around frantically, he turned and jumped over the balcony, feet running against the wall for a moment before he flipped down, rolled and came up again.

“Mingyu!” Seungcheol yelled over the staircase. “He’s making a front play! Tackle the greased little midget!”

“Fuck you Choi Seungcheol!” Jihoon yelled over his shoulder as he accelerated, looking for Mingyu’s too-tall, extremely clumsy ass. He wasn’t  _ afraid, _ but if Mingyu fell on him he’d be dead, and he didn’t plan on being dead until he could key Bobby Lattimer’s car like that joking bastard deserved. 

Mingyu lunged at him out of the study, cutting off the escape route to the door with wide, too-eager arms. “Jihoon!” he yelled loudly - god, so  _ loudly _ \- and tried to capture him. “Jihoonie, don’t run! It’s for a good cause! I swear!”

“Like I fucking believe that!” Jihoon yelled back as he dropped and slid, taking advantage of the loose rug on the wooden entrance floor to change directions. One of the heavy lamps guided him up and around, and he accelerated down the hallway to the sound of a heavy clatter of limbs behind them. “You’ll never catch me, you bastards, you’ll never…”

Jihoon never saw the arms that locked around his waist and yanked him up and over, leaving him kicking his heels in the air and screaming in frustration. Kwon Soonyoung was like some fucking hillbilly Black Panther; the bastard was fast and agile and  _ strong  _ and could hide in the oddest spots. No matter how much he fought and tried to get out of the hold around his waist, he couldn’t get free. 

“Let me go, you fucking foresty nutcase!” he yelled, trying to slam an elbow back into Soonyoung’s ribs.

“Man, it’s like cornerin’ a pissed badger out for your balls,” Soonyoung grunted behind him and tried to dodge and wincing as he got a foot on the instep. “Your mama know you have a mouth like that, darlin’?”

Jihoon snarled and tried to kick back into his balls, but the appearance of the rest saved Soonyoung from that indignity.

“You know the deal, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol said. “We catch you, you have to play fair. Stop trying to kick him in the fork. Now, are you going to be nice, or do I have to go and get the Word of God?”

Jihoon paled and settled down. He could handle anything but sitting through another hour of Hong Jisoo’s etiquette and deportment lessons. “Fuck you,” he muttered sullenly, shrugging free of Soonyoung’s grip. “No need to involve him. What do you  _ want _ ?”

Seungcheol gave him a bright, beaming smile. “You’re our music major. We need some advice.” He reached to ruffle Jihoon’s hair, exposing the undercut for a moment before turning. “To the conference room!”

Jihoon scoffed but slumped with, suffering the way Mingyu latched onto him with ill grace.


	12. Hillbillies II

The conference room was perhaps the most misnamed room in the frat house. The only fancy thing about it was the table, large and walnut and impeccably preserved. Every Monday, Thursday and Saturday it hosted poker tournaments. On Wednesdays it served as the conquest grounds for the frat’s DnD group, something Seungcheol still didn’t understand but allowed because somehow Wonwoo had won the right off him in a game of five card stud, deuces wild. 

He hauled out one of the chairs and swung it around, straddling it and leaning his arms on the back. “Jihoon,” he said with great solemnity. “This is for charity. You know the Spring fundraiser that’s coming up. There’s a prize on the line for the frat that rakes in the most, and not just bragging points against those fuckers from Tau Epsi. Whatever we make will be matched by the university in a donation to a charity of our choice. It really is for a good goal, see?”

“Hey,” Mingyu whined. “We can’t plan with dry throats!”

Jihoon flopped on a chair and tried to ignore the sound of Jun breaking the sound barrier to the small bar in the room. “Which charity?” he asked suspiciously. “And why now all of a sudden? We don’t need funds to repair the house, and if it’s just about bragging rights…”

“How could you say that?” Mingyu yelled from one side. “It’s for The Kittens!”

“Yah, turn that gain down,” Jihoon snarled back. “I can hear you across the table. Which kittens? Is this coming from Wonwoo?”

Amidst the clink of Jun opening a bottle of something and sniffing at it - Vernon had a habit of trying to peel labels off whole - Seungcheol wiggled his eyebrows. “Not kittens, The Kittens! I’ve checked with the lady on the fundraising committee, told her specifically it was for The Kittens, and she said it’s ok, it sounds like a good goal!”

Jihoon looked at the four musketeers across the table with deep suspicion as a possibility dawned on him. “The Kittens,” he deadpanned. “Are we talking about that club down on Fremont, the one with the… the…”

“Yes!” Seungcheol said happily. “The Kittens!”

“I’m confused,” Soonyoung said, looking up from playing with a small, pretty knife that Jihoon didn’t know he had on him. It danced hypnotically between his fingers like some people juggled coins, betraying an easy confidence in his skill with it. “All in, but confused about why it sounds like that’s some kinda place.” 

Jihoon goggled at him as Jun slid glasses over to each of them. Grimacing - he was not going to explain - he chose to take a shot of whatever transparent hell-liquid was in the shot. To his surprise, it tasted faintly of apples and cinnamon. Not bad, if he disregarded the way it seemed to volatilise in his mouth and go straight to his sinuses. He leant sideways to eyebrow the bottle. “Is that some of Seokmin’s homebrew hooch? It’s nine in the morning.”

“It’s Happy Hour somewhere, darlin’,” Jun drawled back with no shame whatsoever. “And it’s for a good cause.”

Seungcheol took his shot, blinked and sighed slowly in appreciation. “God damn it, I love Seokmin. Anyway, Soon, The Kittens is the name for a strip club down on Fremont. The ladies could really do with the money, I’m thinking, it’s time for a club overhaul, and they’re the friendliest people I know. They’re a college institution! It’s our duty to help them out. I was thinking we could do some kinda dance number since we can all dance, and Jihoonie could help us with the music and stuff. He’s good with that.”

“He is?” Soonyoung asked, cutting his glance to Jihoon. “Is that because of your circus career?”

Silence descended in the room, thick and awful, as Jihoon glared and the others watched speculatively to see if violence ensued.

Something in the way he asked, all new-person-innocent, gave Jihoon the patience not to fly across the table and kick his admittedly excellent smile in. “No,” he gritted out. “I’m studying to become a producer.”

Jun broke down first, laughing like a hyena. “You believed that?” he asked Soonyoung. “What are they saying now?”

Soonyoung blanched, putting the knife down. “They were saying he’s the secret lovechild of two circus hobbits,” he said uneasily. “And that’s why he wears slippers, because his toe-hair needs to breathe. What? One of my aunts is in the circus! There’s nothing wrong with that life!”

Laughter rocked the room. Mingyu was laughing so hard he fell out of his chair, and Seungcheol collapsed against the table, wheezing for breath. Jihoon, worried that he’d scrape the last enamel on his back teeth off, reached to take another sip of the moonshine rather. “My parents aren’t hobbits, or in the circus,” he gritted out. “My father is a teacher, my mother’s a professor here. I’m literally a normal height. Don’t be so gullible, idiot.”

Soonyoung’s eyes flamed. “Those fuckers,” he mumbled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, Jihoonie. They’ll pay for that.”

Try as he might, Jihoon couldn’t see any insult in that. Frowning, he looked at the other three assclowns instead. “What kind of music do you want?” he muttered. “What kinda dance are you gonna do?”

Mingyu wriggled like a puppy. “Sexy dance!” he said happily with a wide,  _ wide _ smile. “Sexy dance~”

Jihoon looked at the four of them, then carefully reached for his glass to empty it before he stood. He made it all the way to the door before Seungcheol got there as well, slamming it shut in front of him with one muscled arm. 

“Don’t be like that, Jihoonie,” their president said winningly. “It’s for The Kittens!”

“Ask Jun,” Jihoon said metedly. “He’s the one that jumps everything in sight.”

“Thank you!” Jun called from the table. “I’ll take that as a compliment!”

Seungcheol shot him a warning look over his shoulder before he inhaled. “I didn’t want to do this,” he said portentously. “I really didn’t, but you owe me for that service I gave your bike.”

“You said that was free!”

“...and it’s for a good cause,” Seungcheol continued on, unbothered. “And it’s just a song. It’s not like we’re asking you to dance with us.”

“Oh my god,” Mingyu whispered from one side. “Oh my god, when he snarls like that you can totally see his little fangs, it’s fucking  _ adorable~ _ ”

Seungcheol glared again. “Mingyu!” he said. “Zip it!” Looking back, he tried to smile willingly. “Or… I can get Jeonghan to ask you?”

  
Jihoon recoiled. If etiquette classes with Jisoo was bad, Jeonghan was infinitely worse despite the fact that he was a very, very comfortable pillow. “Low blow, Choi,” he muttered. “Fucking  _ low blow _ . Open the fucking door so I can go and fetch my laptop, and someone pour me a second one. I…” He broke off to stare at Soonyoung, who had the bottle of moonshine by the neck and was drinking from it. Shuddering, he turned away and glared at Seungcheol to retract his arm, slipping out as quietly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * This insanity courtesy of Coffee and myself. 
>   * The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HflDc7PUT2g&ab_channel=Big%26Rich) they will be 'dancing' to. 
> 



End file.
